Smiling brightly, she chirped, “Did you find Dr. Wraige’s laptop?”
“I did.” Wally headed for the exit, then stopped, turned toward her, and asked, “What time do you start work?”
“Eight.” She fluttered her lashes. “And I get off at four thirty. Maybe we could grab a drink sometime.”
“I’m married.” Wally dismissed her invitation. “Were you on time today?” He waited for her to nod, then continued. “Have you left this office since you arrived?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Can anyone corroborate that?”
“Well, I’ve been on and off the phone all day with various board members.” Karolyn’s confused expression morphed into alarm, her eyes widened, and she dropped her flirtatious behavior. “Why are you asking? Wasn’t Dr. Wraige’s death due to natural causes?”
“I’ll need a list of the people you spoke to this morning between eight thirty and ten.” Wally returned to her desk. “Now, please.”
Karolyn swallowed audibly. “Coming right up.” She clicked a few times on her keyboard, then turned as the printer behind her whirred to life. Once it spit out a sheet of paper, she silently handed it to Wally, then evidently her confidence returned. She coyly licked her lips and asked, “Anything else, Chief?”
“I don’t suppose you happen to know Dr. Wraige’s laptop password.”
“Uh.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and, not meeting his eyes, said, “It’s possible that it’s Meat Loaf.”
Wally tilted his head. “Was that his favorite food?” The man hadn’t struck him as someone with such down-home tastes in cuisine.
“Meat Loaf with a capital M,” Karolyn explained. “You know, the singer.”
“Hmm. I would never have pegged Dr. Wraige as one of that guy’s fans.”
“It was the song ‘I’d Do Anything for Love’ that Shamus liked, not the guy,” Karolyn muttered.
It took a second, but then once Wally thought about what he knew regarding Wraige’s BDSM proclivities, he remembered the rest of the song’s title, “(But I Won’t Do That),” and he had to hide his grin.
Thanking the admin assistant, Wally returned to his Hummer and booted up the laptop. The password Karolyn suggested worked and with a bit of research, he soon found the inventory of the vic’s coin collection.
As he drove to the police station, Wally considered his next move. Was it worth spending a couple of hours figuring out what the collection was worth, or could he assign one of his officers to that task and spend his time on something else?
Groaning, he decided that he’d better do it himself.
It took Wally as long as he feared and when he finished, it looked as if one of the coins that was missing was an uncirculated 1916-D Mercury Dime. According to Google, it could be worth up to forty thousand dollars.
Wally stood up. He was stiff from being hunched over the computer for so long. As he stretched out the kinks in his back, the intercom buzzed.
He pushed the button, and Thea said, “Chief, the owner of the Treasure Chest just called to report that someone left the jewelry box taken in the Wraige burglary on his doorstep.”
“I’ll head there now,” Wally responded, then jogged downstairs and into the garage.
He slid behind the wheel of his Hummer, threw the vehicle in reverse and raced toward Scumble River’s only pawnshop.
The Treasure Chest was located on the edge of town, not far from the highway’s entrance and exit ramps. As Wally pulled into the empty lot, he was glad to see that there were no other customers. Pawnshop owners were usually more cooperative without witnesses.
The large front window bore the words TREASURE CHEST in gilded letters and the tall neon sign near the road scrolled BUY, SELL, LOAN in red. A blue OPEN sign blinked on and off as Wally pushed through the glass door and strolled over the threshold.
He immediately noticed a poster on the back wall behind the register that read:
WE CASH CHECKS.
WE BUY SCRAP GOLD.
WE REPAIR JEWELRY.
IF IT’S STOLEN, DON’T BOTHER US.
Although a bell had sounded when he’d entered, the owner was nowhere in sight. Figuring the guy had momentarily stepped into the back room, Wally wandered around looking over the items that were for sale.
A wide-ranging array of instruments from guitars to trombones hung from one wall and power tools and electronics lined the shelves of the two. The third had glass cases holding jewelry and guns.
Growing impatient for the owner to return, Wally called out, “Khan, it’s Chief Boyd. You here?”
Several minutes went by, and there was no answer. Had whoever dropped off the jewelry box come back to get his money and ended up hurting or killing the pawnshop owner?
Wally rested his hand on his sidearm and yelled, “Khan, are you here?”
Silence.
He moved toward the rear of the shop and raised his voice. “Khan, are you okay?”
This time Wally heard a toilet flush and he moved his hand to his Taser. He edged a little closer to the back room door and toed it open with his foot.
Immediately an alarm blared and a deep voice roared, “What the f—”
An instant later Khan rushed out clutching a shotgun.
“Stop.” Wally’s heart skipped a beat. “Police.”
“Chief?” Khan slowly lowered his weapon. “What’re you doing here?”
Earbuds hung around his neck, a newspaper was under one arm, and toilet paper was stuck to his shoe. Clearly, he’d been interrupted during his daily meditation on the porcelain throne.
“Sorry.” Wally held up his hands placatingly. “I came about the jewelry box you reported.”
“That was quick. I thought I’d locked the outer door.” Khan noticed the toilet paper and removed it from his shoe, then stuffed it in his pocket.
Wally grimaced and resolved not to shake the man’s hand. “Did you open it?”
“Nah.” Khan’s posture relaxed. “As soon as I saw that the brass plaque matched the description of the stolen goods you sent out, I put it in a bag and called the station. Figured you want to preserve any prints.”
“Terrific.” Wally beamed at the man, who was running his fingers nervously through his gray bangs.
Khan had gotten his nickname because he resembled Ricardo Montalbán in his Star Trek role.
“How have you and the missus been?” Khan moved over to the register, reached underneath, and pulled out a paper sack. “I bet those babies are keeping you busy.”
“You’re right about that.” Wally took the bag. “Thanks for calling.”
“I’m always happy to help the police.”
“And we appreciate it.”
After thanking the man again, Wally returned to the Hummer. He pulled up the list of stolen items on his phone, then donned rubber gloves and carefully removed the wooden chest from the paper sack. As Khan had stated, the brass plaque read: SHAMUS WRAIGE.
Opening it, Wally noted that a heavy gold signet ring, two watches, diamond cuff links, and a platinum tie tack were still in the box. Only one of the items that had been reported stolen was missing.
He scratched his head. This was easily a couple of thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry.
What kind of thief steals things, then dumps them at a pawnshop rather than try to sell them?
Chapter 11
At Last
As Skye left the Wraige residence, she realized that she actually had over an hour when she didn’t have to be anywhere. She’d taken the afternoon off of work to help Wally with his investigation, and she wasn’t due to relieve Dorothy from her nanny duties until four thirty.
She drove aimlessly for a few minutes, thinking about what to do with herself. The twins were probably down for their afternoon nap, so even if she went home, she wouldn’t get to spend
time with them.
Of course, she could always go back to school and write reports. But she and Wally had both made a pact to stop working so much overtime. Especially since neither of their jobs paid them for those extra hours—either in money or appreciation.
It was a shame that there wasn’t enough time to drive to Joliet. She needed to get a wedding present for her friend Judy Martin, the town librarian. Next month, Judy was marrying Anthony Anserello, one of Wally’s officers. They were registered at Macy’s, and Skye had hoped to get to the chain’s Louis Joliet Mall location.
However, with the days flying by, Skye made a mental note to order something for them online the minute that she got to her laptop. Otherwise, she would end up without a gift to give the bride and groom on their wedding day.
Still, Skye wasn’t ready to go home yet. Pulling up to the next four-way stop, she realized that she was heading in the direction of her parents’ house.
Evidently, even her subconscious had known that what she really needed to do was go and see if there was any way she could help her Uncle Charlie who, with the motor court under lockdown, was currently occupying Skye’s old bedroom.
Sighing, she made the turn onto the icy, unevenly paved street. The Midwest had been having a wretched winter and the country roads leading to her folks’ place were a slushy mess. The snow had started before Thanksgiving and had continued through December, January, and into February.
There had never really been a warm spell to melt the awful white stuff before the next storm came through. And now there was layer upon layer of rutted ice covering the pothole strewn asphalt.
Thankfully, the big SUV had good traction, and as an Illinois native, she’d grown up driving in winter’s treacherous conditions. She took it slow, leaving lots of braking room, but was relieved when she turned into her parents’ and could park the Mercedes.
Jed, Skye’s father, kept the driveway clear of snow, but since it was pea gravel, there was no way to remove all the slippery patches, and she skidded a little as she got out of the SUV. Teetering, she regained her balance, then carefully made her way to the sidewalk.
Her parents’ home sat on a plot of land carved out of the acreage that her father farmed. During the summer, the house would be crowded on three sides by either soybeans or feed corn, depending on the crop rotation schedule, but right now looked as if the redbrick, ranch-style house was adrift on a sea of white.
As Skye climbed the single step to the patio, she noted that her mother’s concrete goose wore a yellow smock with large colorful wings attached and a matching cap with a yellow beak.
Skye thought it must be a canary costume, but her mom usually dressed the statue for the season, so it should have had on something representing Valentine’s Day. Was May just hoping for an early spring, or did the fowl’s clothing choice have a deeper connotation?
Mulling over what a bird could mean, Skye opened the back door and entered the utility room, calling out, “Yoo-hoo. It’s me.”
When she was home, May didn’t believe in locking her doors, and Skye worried that anyone could just walk in and surprise her mom. However, Skye had long since realized that there was no changing May’s mind, and she no longer tried to reason with her.
As Skye bent down to unzip her boots, her nose twitched and she hastily pinched it together. If May heard her sneeze, she’d be sure Skye was sick. She’d never believe that it was the Febreze Fresh-Cut Pine air freshener that May liberally sprayed throughout her house rather than her daughter about to succumb to the bubonic plague.
By the time Skye had removed her shoes and coat, May appeared in the utility room doorway and said, “Charlie’s on the phone with Loretta about his case, so keep your voice down.”
“Okay.” Skye stepped past her mom into the kitchen and asked, “Is that good or bad?”
May followed, but instead of answering Skye’s question, she demanded, “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you at work? Is it the twins?”
“Everything’s fine.” Skye knew that her mother’s go-to response to anything unexpected was to fear that the worst had happened. “Wally found Dr. Wraige dead, and he asked me to take the afternoon off to help him interview the superintendent’s wife and son.”
If her mother hadn’t been a police dispatcher, Skye would have never mentioned the murder without checking with Wally. But May would know all about it as soon as she reported to work at four o’clock, and as long as Skye warned her not to tell anyone, she wouldn’t share the information.
“It wasn’t a natural death, I presume?” Suspicion glimmered in May’s emerald-green eyes—the same exact color Skye saw every day when she gazed into the mirror. “Why wasn’t it on the scanner?”
“Wally kept it off the radio. He didn’t want Mrs. Wraige and her stepson to hear about it until they could be notified.” Skye leaned against the counter and tried to change the subject. “Where’s Dad?”
“Jed’s out in the garage working on a new doghouse for Chocolate.” May screwed up her face and tsked. “When he comes inside for supper, he’ll get those wood shavings all over everything.”
Skye walked over to her mom and nudged her shoulder. “Just think of the sawdust as man glitter.”
May snickered, but quickly resumed her frown. “I told him that he better strip in the utility room and shower in the half bath.”
“Doesn’t he always?” Skye teased. Her mother would give you the shirt off her back. But it would come with instructions on how to wear it, wash it, and hang it up.
“No, he does not,” May snapped. “Last year, when he was working on that dang antique tractor of his, he came in covered in grease and tracked it through the whole house.”
Skye clamped her lips shut to contain the giggle trying to escape. Her mother had the memory of an elephant with a mule’s stubbornness, which meant getting on May’s bad side was never a smart move. It was time to change the subject again.
Moving to the fridge, Skye opened it and said, “I missed lunch. Do you have anything I can snack on?”
May nodded, then narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you eat? I know Dorothy packs something for you and Wally both. I hope you’re not starving yourself to get rid of the weight from the babies?”
“Whoa!” Skye blinked. “Who are you and where did you put my mother?”
May’s words were a complete turnaround. She had never been a fan of Skye’s curvy figure and had had her daughter watching what she ate since she was eight years old. To this day, because of her mother’s efforts to keep Skye from gaining a single pound, Skye hated both celery and cottage cheese.
“Don’t be silly.” May waved away Skye’s astonishment. “According to Dr. Boz, new mothers shouldn’t attempt to lose weight for six to twelve months. Your body is still adjusting to having given birth.”
Skye wrinkled her brow. “Who’s Dr. Boz?” That wasn’t the name of Skye’s ob-gyn.
“He’s on TV.” May disappeared for a few seconds and came back holding a checkout stand magazine. “See? Isn’t he handsome?”
Skye squinted at the picture and accompanying headline, then said, “Yes, he is.”
While Skye looked through the article, May busied herself with pulling food out of the fridge. By the time Skye was done reading, her mom had a thick sandwich, chips, and a bowl of fruit chunks on the counter.
She hugged May, then sat on a stool and dug in. At the first bite of baked ham, tangy mustard, and homemade bread, she moaned.
“So why are you here?” May marched to the sink and washed off the knife she’d used. Dirty dishes were not allowed to lie around in her kitchen.
“I came to see how Uncle Charlie was making out and to ask if I could do anything to help him.” Skye ate a potato chip, then remembering that May had never answered her, rephrased her original question and asked, “Has there been any news on his case? Is that why Loretta calle
d?”
“We’ll soon find out.” May dried the knife and returned it to its proper slot in the utensil drawer. “All Loretta said when I picked up the phone was that she needed to talk to Charlie right away.”
“Hmm.” Skye continued to eat her late lunch, then asked, “Did you know Dr. Wraige?”
May brought over a plate of frosted brownies, took the stool next to Skye, and said, “Not really. I’ve spoken to him a few times at church events. He seemed a little domineering for my taste.”
Skye almost choked on the bite of melon she’d just put in her mouth. If only her mother knew just how true her statement was.
Skye quickly swallowed and said, “That’s my impression too. Have you heard anything about him around town? Has anyone mentioned not liking him?”
“Just the usual disgruntled parents.” May selected a brownie. “Charlie probably knows more about that, since he’s president of the school board and works closely with the superintendent.”
“We can’t tell him about Dr. Wraige’s murder until Wally gives us the go-ahead.” Skye took a sip from the glass of Diet Coke her mother had poured for her. “Besides, I don’t want to bother Uncle Charlie about it. He has his own troubles.”
“Okay.” May fingered the crease in her perfectly ironed jeans, then looked up and said, “But that husband of yours better not think Charlie had anything to do with the superintendent’s death.”
Shoot! Skye hadn’t even considered that possibility. But Charlie and Dr. Wraige did have a bit of an adversarial relationship on the board.
“Has Charlie been here all day?” Skye asked, crossing her fingers.
“Yes.” May glared at her daughter. “He hasn’t left the house since Loretta dropped him off here yesterday. He doesn’t even have his car since it was included in the state police’s search warrant.”
“Well, that’s one good thing, then.” Skye blew out a relieved breath, then bit her lip. “Did anyone stop by between eight thirty and ten?”
“Maggie was here from eight until eleven.” May’s put-upon sigh could have powered the windmill they used to pump water for their lawn and garden. “We were picking out which of the bank bus trips we wanted to take next month.”
Body Over Troubled Waters Page 10
